Olena had not had much time to think about marriage since she’d been ripped out of her childhood and forced to grow up. It was an odd statement, but that didn’t make it any less true. When she had been young, marriage had been so prevalent in her mind. And Dmytros had been the reason-- for he had promised her a life and a future of happiness. They would spend hours talking about it, planning their own celebration, weaving their crowns together. And they would speak with such certainty about it that it did not seem as if anything could have prevented it from happening.

And then, in an instant, she was taken from her family alongside those she was closest to. She could vividly remember the breath of the pirate who took her virginity, the odd look of determination and sorrow on his face as he finished the task. She screamed, she begged for Dima to save her. And when he took her back to her cage, she found that the child she had been was dead.

The juxtaposition of that was not lost on her.

Marriage would have made her an adult, but it had never been something she could have pictured for herself when her body belonged to anyone who would pay for it. And the debts meant that she was rarely in a place to pay for her freedom. No one cared about her outside of Vira, and her death had only added onto Olena’s own total. Marriage was something you could give of yourself, and when you had nothing of your own to give, it was only further torture to try and imagine it as a possibility.

But now, in the safe house of Iris and Aimias, it was something she found herself dreaming about. She could look out into the gardens and see herself and Dima holding hands underneath an arch of flowers. She could picture him dressed in a fancy chiton, waiting for her at the end of a small aisle, could see the cloth she’d barely started on so vividly in her mind. All of it made her feel safe again. She’d never been in a place where she felt safe enough to have her own dreams. And now that she did, it was a relief.

She felt younger than she had in years.

The redhead had little to her name, save for the few things that had been given to her by others. Persephone had gifted her with a few older chitons in Taegnea, which Olena had easily altered to her own form. She’d rarely owned anything so fine, but the two pieces that had come from the Queen were the best quality. She couldn’t have afforded the beads and lace on the dark blue one she’d come to prefer, so she cherished it. And while Iris had brought her a few more when they had arrived, she found herself unable to dream of marrying Dima in any of the pieces within her small chest.

Dressed in the simplest piece she owned, the same olive shade chiton she’d worn to say goodbye to Dima a few days ago, Olena found herself dreaming of her future out among the flowers of the manor. Drawn to the white roses, nearly finished for the season in their blooms, she was surprised to find Iris out as well. There was a slight chill in the air, but she lacked a himation or cloak to keep herself warm. The best she could manage was the overly long and thick one that Iason had given Dima, which she double wrapped around her shoulders to avoid it dragging on the ground.

A part of her thought of retreating, knowing that she did not belong in the company of such a fine lady. But she knew she had been rude, the way she had barely conversed with her in the first place. So with a deep breath, she refused to hide in the bushes as she made herself known to the lady of the house. “Lady Iris, I did not think you would be out here.” She picked up her skirts and dropped her knees and head in a curtsy, the action unrefined and obviously a bit foreign to the girl. “I can come back later if you wish for time alone.”